


Apples

by DesperatePeaceOfSecrets



Category: Amora The Enchantress, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Divas, Thor (Comics), Thor: Tales of Asgard
Genre: Angst, Apples, Asgard, Love/Hate, Multi, Revenge, The Norn Stones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-06 08:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesperatePeaceOfSecrets/pseuds/DesperatePeaceOfSecrets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amora is struck with a brand new plan and she goes for it. Sneaking back into Asgard after her exile, she goes in search of an object, stirring up some mischief along the way. Finding something she doesn't expect, will she get away with it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apples

The creak of leather was strangely comforting. She stalked over to the dresser, with the grace that some models take years to perfect, and sat on the stool before the mirror. This was her favourite part of dressing. Or undressing, for that matter.

Amora felt at the peak of her game. She stood up again, and her vanity would not allow her to deny another look in the full length mirror. Beautiful, it breathed back at her. Her emerald eyes sparkled, a slight rose coloured hue decorated her cheeks, before you met her lips. Plumper and softer than any mortals, with those alone she could bespell, her tongue needed to ensnare. Spinning, she appraised the rest of her form, coming back to face the mirror. Her blonde tresses fell over her shoulders, mingling in the forest green and ebony black lace patterns of her bra. She fit well, and there was no question of that being an issue, so he eyes followed the line of her body down. Perfect in hourglass, she checked her stomach was as she remembered, and then turned to the side. She smirked. The matching knickers and garter belt were perfect, framing her exquisitely. Down again, and she unfurled the top of one of her stockings, gently. Once satisfied, she skipped over to her wardrobe. Flinging it open, she couldn’t help shake her head. This was conducive to being filmed for… A mortal “chic-flic”. Though, if there were cameras, she would still not have been shy. She removed her favourite high-heels from the wardrobe, now just playing up to the idea that someone could be watching. If they were… All the more fun. If they weren’t? No harm done.

Slipping on the heels, she admired the way they extended her already long legs, and remembered why she loved them so. The black lace design meant they went well with nearly anything, but they held a secret. The bottom of the soles were a bright, lip-stick red, though you’d only see, if walking behind. She loved that splash of colour, and because red and green did not go together, she had to find an intermediary colour. Black, of course.

But all this was stalling. Amora knew she looked good, that fact had not changed since she had been aware of the thing called beauty.

And just like that, a plan started to form in her head. Oh, this one would be good. Oh, this one, this one, would be just, so… amusing. She paused, before adding, and pain free. She carefully began to predict people’s reactions, see what needed to be done, fine tuning. It was after all, in the baby stages. Giggling maliciously to herself, the face she lingered on most was Lorelei’s.

Picking up the phone, she rang her dinner date, the one whom she’d been dressing so nicely for.

“Hey, sweetie, I’m not going to be able to make tonight, I’m so, so sorry!” Poor fool. He’d fallen for her guises even without the use of magic.

“Really?” He sounded forlorn. Pathetic mortals. Still, this one had been very pleasing to the eye, she’d play nice.

“Yeah, I’ve got a problem at work, big hush-hush, shouldn’t even be mentioning it to you, but I could hardly ditch you on the night without some form of explanation, could I? It wouldn’t be fair on you…” The lies fell easily off her tongue. Sometimes, even she believed them.

“We’ll rearrange though, right? I mean… I really like you, Amora…” Bless him. She’d be touched if it weren’t for the fact she knew he was lying too. Oh not about the liking, just about the fact that he liked her as a person. He wanted a permanent… Companion. Amora was happy to oblige. Well… Except for the permanent bit.

“Yeah, of course, darling. I’ll ring you, promise.” Even just on the phone her whole mannerisms changed. If she was going to lie, Amora lied well. She ended the conversation with playful threats as to what would happen next time they met, and with a lot of fervent, “you bet“‘s, he hung up.

Stripping, and not worrying about where the clothes fell, Amora walked back over to where she’d begun. She stood and stared at her Asgardian wear, hanging in the closet. It was time for the old friends to re-unite. The groaning of the leather offered much more than was going to be given tonight, and she welcomed the smell and feel of it like a blanket. A highly seductive and kinky one, but comforting, nonetheless. The straps fit into their allotted places like a dream, and everything was as she left it. Amora left the tights for last, but once she had them on, she was ready, dressed in battle gear. Finally, she was The Enchantress once more.

Amora stretched out her arms, slowly, calling on her magic. Her palms faced down, and she flung her head back as the power coursed through her body. Taking one hand she moved it in slow elegant circles, immediately mimicked by green smoke around her body. Her eyes had lost irises, pupils, and had bled to a deep, dark green. She shut them, concentrating on where she wanted to go. Those clichés of picturing hard the exact point where you wanted to be were clichés for a reason. The power built, her eyelids fluttered as she tried to contain it. Snapping them open, finally, the green fog that had encircled her imploded in a flash of sparkling light.

Travelling, or transporting was really very simple, once you’d got all the power amassed… you just let it go. To Amora, it felt like she’d been holding her breath, or tensing a muscle deep inside her, and all she needed to do was just relax, unclench. She felt the warm whispers of the world shifting around her, of her shifting through it. There is no feeling like it, and in these instances, she was, more than ever, grateful for the gift that was her magic. She felt perfectly safe, for nothing to get her while in mid-transition.

Asgard rushed into focus. For of course, that had been where she was going, her beautiful home. Leaves blew up in the gush of her arrival, though she hushed them, not wishing to be betrayed even by the sound of leaves falling. Heimdall could not see her, it would be a pity to be discovered for clumsiness. The forest was her old hunting ground, and she new it well. There was more than one reason why she chose it as her point of return.

Amora ran. She gave herself over to instinct, and ran through the growth. It was as if the world was liquid, the trees bending out of her way. Her feet sliced through the air, and by some trickery made no noise. She would have laughed from joy, had she not been being silent. And somehow, the enforced silence heightened her exhilaration. Bounding, leaping, running. She was graceful, and trusted her balance enough to know she would not fall, no tree root would topple her. I am back, my friends, I’m home. I’ll look after you.

She just had some business to attend to first. She willed her heart to slow down, to calm, and with it, she came to a halt. In front of her grew the tree, from which the golden apples grew. Amora had nicknamed it Little Sister, the little sister to Yggdrasil. Though of course, that weren’t true. The branches were adorned with little specks of golden light, each one a shining luminescence that would not end until picked, apples that shone.

“Ahhh, Enchantress” She whispered in Amora’s mind, “You have returned to me and my children?”

“Aye, Little Sister. Though I fear, not for long.” She replied, the words merely thought, but heard by the other. Amora almost laughed… And the rest of the Aesir thought she had no friends. “I seek a taste of home, you know I am not supposed to be here. And while I’m here… I had hoped to give a little something back for their… kindness.”

“I see. And you need my help for this, don’t you? Very well, you have looked after me over the aeons, I will do what you ask.” See? Friendship.

“I would like an apple, so that I might bewitch it.”

Little Sister said no more. Amora took that as a yes, and quickly, deftly she climbed her branches, searching for a suitable subject. She found one, and cradling it in her hands, she whispered a blessing upon the tree, before removing it. The limb that Amora had been resting on curled and contracted, gently depositing her on the ground. With one last nod in Little Sister’s direction, Amora jogged on.

It wasn’t long before she came to another tree. Trees, trees, trees, they seemed to be at the centre of everything. Even the mortals sensed that they owed their home’s stability to one. This one, however comforting and tall, possessed nothing intrinsically important. It was not the structure of the cosmos, nor did the fruit it bore mean immortality to anyone. But it was where Amora spent lots of her time. She loved it, for it never judged her, and never spoke. Just let her plot. It listened when she spoke allowed her plans too, a valuable accomplice in many ways. She had to jump into the first branch, but it was worth the effort getting there. Once nestled, she took out the apple again, now faded to a yellow-gold.

“Ambátt ágjarn ast bardagi.” She breathed, and watched the apple turn red, before it faded back to a metallic pink, pinker than mother-of-pearl, but similar in its beauty. The smile decorating Amora’s face was a cross between a smirk, and wonder, if ever such a thing could exist. Now all she had to do, was put the final touches to how she was going to use this apple. Before going through with it, she wanted it to be absolutely right. Perfect was the word for tonight. Perfect.

Some hours later, and darkness had fallen around Amora. Rooted in the tree, she hadn’t moved, and now, landing catlike on the ground, she stretched. Feeling more confident about what she had to put in place for this plot to work, she walked towards the castle. Her mind whirring, she double checked her thought processes.

“Halt, Enchantress.” A voice called from behind her. Pirouetting elegantly on the balls of her feet, she turned to see none other than the lustful Fandral.

“Fandral,” She drawled lazily, seemingly not worried. “I see the All-Father’s wit has escaped him, if he trusts you to patrol the walls. Shouldn’t you be out chasing fair maidens?”

The god before her squirmed. A sight she enjoyed greatly, a smirk forming on her lips. She did love it when she could push buttons. It was even better when the subject showed visibly they’d been affected.

“I caught you, did I not? What are you doing here, Amora?” Shrugging, she closed the gap between them, coming so close…

“I missed home, Fandral, sweet.” She circled him, lazily, never once taking her eyes from his face. Her lips slack and her voice a husky whisper. “I even missed you…” She returned to her starting point, her face now inches from his. Fighting the urge to smirk, she acknowledged the look of lust on his face with a slight movement of her head. He was just so easy to manipulate, the sex mad god. Not that she could talk.

“Amora…” His voice, strangled with need, pleased her. She knew then she could have played with him all night, made him beg for her, but instead, she put a finger to his lips.

“Hush, Fandral,” She said, before he could continue. “Let me pass. The All-Father need never know. You could have missed me, I could have chosen to be invisible, I could have chosen not to walk and gone by flight or magic. Heimdall cannot see me. You would be blameless…” she paused, and leant forward, before adding, “And I would be eternally grateful.” Her words whispered across his skin, making him shudder. She kissed his lips, softly, before leaving him like that, walking on, smirking the entire way. So easy.

She was not challenged again, and made it all the way to her chambers in the palace. There she was greeted by gifts, many gifts, piles of them. Mainly gold jewellery, though a few had gone with more original gifts. One young admirer had even sent her a lock of his hair. Bad move. She hoped he knew what he’d done. With a lock of hair, a piece of well-worn clothing, or even nail clippings, Amora could weave a spell upon them from a distance. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by opened presents, she was happy, and had momentarily forgotten her calamity mission. She truly did miss all her boys. And by the looks of things, they missed her.

She spied something out of the corner of her eye. Something that was designed so that you could only see it from the corner of your eye. This box, enchanted with one of her own spells, could only be from one person. And, true to form, upon opening it, she found a letter.

“Amora,” it read, “Hope you found the gifts as amusing as I did. A lock of hair? Really, what was the poor boy thinking? Well, Asgard is frightfully boring without us. And I have some new tricks to show you when we next meet. Until then, living up the place for me, won’t you? Loki.”

She grinned. It was just typical for him to have gone through her presents. She would have done the same had it been the other way around. No doubt if there was anything of interest he would not have been above taking it, should it further his aims. As for the livening things up… She was about to take care of that. The two of them were so similar.

She tidied away her things, and straightened out the room. Others would know she had been here from that, but her next actions were about to make that plain anyway. Once she was done, she shifted forms, taking on the appearance of a young boy, lucky enough to have a position in the royal household. Running into the great hall, there she found most of Asgard feasting, the ladies on one side of the table, the lords on the other. It was not unusual to find the inhabitants of Asgard so, for there is little else to do when you’re a forgotten god. At the head of the table was, of course, the All-Father, sitting between Thor on the right and the All-Mother on the left.

She walked up to them, and served wine to all the males of the court. Next, she served the women. It wasn’t custom, but it wasn’t remarked upon, either. Stupid, sexist. She smiled. Soon, the power would swing the other way, and then the men would have to get out of the way, or be cut down.

A simple sleeping spell had been cast over their goblets, and as it was activated by her, it allowed her to get clear of the banquet before all hell broke loose, and change back to herself.

At the same time that she activated the sleeping spell, she also magicked the pearl apple, so that it floated in mid-air before the ladies of the court. She projected her voice out loud, demanding attention from those there present.

“Ladies,” her voice held power, and immediately those that had been in consternation over the men-folk stopped, and only had eyes for the apple. Amora layered her words with magic, coating them lightly as if rolling them, each individual word given it’s own sheen of enchantment. “Listen to what I say. This apple, is the only apple that matters any more. This apple is the prize. Prize for what? The most beautiful Asgardian lady, is the one that should get this gift.” The Aesir were filled with need. It coursed through them, so that they were consumed by it. This need, this need drove them. Amora watched, interested, as those who were already concerned with how they looked, didn’t question this want, and those that had previously not cared, struggled with the concept. Lady Sif was a particular joy to watch. She knew what was going on, but couldn’t fight it off. Amora chose to toy with her a little.

“Lady Sif…” Her voice caressed the inside of just Sif’s head, and it was gentle, so gentle. “Your warrior status will not help you now… There is nothing you can do.” She laughed, scathingly, and it was to Sif as if the very sound of it could cut her, bleed her inside her skull. The lady shook and flinched at the pain. Poor thing, that only made Amora laugh more.

“Enchantress…” Sif struggled to think, but there Amora stopped her.

“No, I don’t think so. Have fun, Sif, make sure you beat everyone else. Prove you’re the most beautiful…”

Amora walked away. Behind her she could her the women of the court scrambling over table tops, climbing onto anyone, anything, to get at that apple. Soon the men would awaken, and then the party would really start. The men-folk would attempt to stop them, they would try to get the apple, to get it out of their reach, or so they would think. There would be mass panic, mass pain, and many unhappy ladies. She hoped it was Odin or Thor that got the apple. Well, anyway, she planned to be back in time to watch that particular bit of the show. On with business.

Amora strode freely through the castle. She casually knocked over some of the vases, using her hands instead of magic. There was always something more satisfying doing it by herself, and she channelled all the frustrations of living the last months without a big release. “Fear the Enchantress. Keeping her trapped only means dire circumstance when she once again is released from her bonds.”

This is when epic music would be playing in a mortal films, she thought. Immediately, she put into effect her words, choosing something appropriate, and broadcast it throughout the palace. Down the halls of Asgard’s royal palace she walked with pride. Her limbs moved in a liquid grace, effortlessly in time with the music. She put an extra ounce of sway into her walk, not caring if no body saw it. She knew, and she was enjoying every second of it. Right now, Amora was queen, and she would do what the fuck she felt like.

Far, far too soon she came to the vault. There, the two guards were no trouble. Males, really, would Odin never learn? She left them on the floor, soppy expressions on their faces, and quickly skipped inside. Now she did have to be quick, she didn’t want to miss the party.

All around her stood many plinths, upon which many artefacts stood. Requisitions from different conquests, little trophies from each battle won. Amora searched them all. At first, she was merely frustrated, calming herself enough to use a trick that Karnilla had taught her. She searched in her mind’s eye for one particular item, used an inner sight to see what was around her. Everything had a multicoloured sheen, but nothing hidden in the vault was what she had come for.

Finally, Amora screamed, a wrenching, violent scream. She would not be thwarted now! She ran, her scream echoing down the halls as she burst into the All-Father’s chambers. She stretched out her arms, and picked up all the items there, throwing them against the walls, each other, anything, this endless scream seeming like a fuel for her madness. Her hair was whipped up in a magical gale, and her mouth formed into a pitiless snarl. She would have it. It was hers!

Thor’s room. The All-Father may have put it there, mightn’t he? He knew she would hate going back there, after all this time he still knew. She jogged on, around a corner, down another corridor, past the meeting room, past Loki’s room. She turned another final corner, and there it was. Pausing at the doorknob, Amora took a healing breath. She would not be beaten by a childish heart. The fact that it was her childish heart was not of consequence. She opened the door, and stepped in.

Now, of I were the All-Father, where would I hide it? Well, that would be the place that hurt the most, wouldn’t it? She took another breath, and looked towards the window. Hesitantly, she walked over to it. Don’t think about the evenings spent on the balcony with Thor. Don’t think about the fact this is where you told him you loved him. Don’t think about that night, the most perfect of nights, when the sky was clear and the stars were bright. The night was cool and he held you like a blanket. No, don’t think about any of that… Too late. She stopped, and, angry with herself, forced herself to open those windows.

Quickly, so she could focus on business, she switched to her magic. It took a her a minute, but there it was, Odin had placed it in the wall, crafty. Still, no match for her. She shut it off, and walked towards it, beholding it with normal eyes, or as normal as hers got. “Svetneha” she whispered, and out came a section of the wall. It was as seamless as if she had been the first to cut out this section of rock, but there, behind it, was a rolled up scroll. She was shocked. Now that she had it, she couldn’t believe it. Her hand shook as she removed it. The other hand fixed the wall, but that was all done on auto-pilot. She only had eyes for the paper in her hand.

She unfurled it, checking it was what she hoped. It would not do to come this far and leave with a piece of paper of no importance. It was, but Odin had left her one more sting. There, rolled up with her document, was the poem that her much younger, more naive self, blissfully unaware of what was to come, had written to Thor. The tears fell hot, and heavy. Did Thor know about this? Had he given it to the All-Father, laughed about it, thought about the best way to hurt her?

She wanted to tear it up, conjure a ball of flame and burn it.

But she couldn’t. This poem was a portion of herself she’d left behind, a person that was no longer there. This was evidence that she had once been as sweet and trusting as everyone else, before cynicism and lust took over… Seeing it again had been painful, as any re-attachment of lost parts of yourself would be, and now…

She rolled it up again, and conjured a bow. She tied it around the parchment by hand, and placed it gently on Thor’s pillow. She didn’t care if he knew she’d been here.

As she left, she went past Lorelei’s room on the way to the banquet hall. She couldn’t resist leaving a snake on her sister’s pillow too. It was to cheer up her after the shock of finding the poem, she reasoned. She jogged the rest of the way, hoping not to miss anything of importance.

She was just in time. Reclining up in the beams of the roof, she concealed herself from them, but her laughter she let ring out clear. There were cuts and bruises galore, Balder had what was clearly nail marks all down one of his cheeks. The ladies had lost all decorum, and were climbing all over the men, tryin to reach the apple. By now, the apple had come into effect, as it teased the women. It wizzed and zipped around their heads, coming just close enough, before flying away again. Finally, the All-Father grasped it between his meaty hands. Meaty hands that soon turned into dainty, manicured hands. His ceremonial clothes that he’d worn turned into the most beautiful of dresses. Amora was histerical with laughter at the sight of his beard shooting back into his face, his golden eye patch now decorated with flowers. In fact, the rest of the court watched as the All-Father became the most beautiful lady in Asgard.

Amora called out. “Odin, you look very fetching!” the blush that crept into his face was very worth it. The chauvinist couldn’t stand being a woman? Well, serve him right. Let him grovel to Loki to take it off, or wait until it broke, but she would not do it. The apple Odin had been holding, fell to the floor, all the colour of it drained, now a clear, but colourful shell. Amora called it to her, and put it away with the scroll. It would be her trophy, from her conquest.

She faded into the visible spectrum just long enough to blow kisses to the All-Father, and laugh again at the crying women who had lost the apple. That was their own doing, the need to have the apple forced on them by Amora had faded when Odin had touched it. Pathetic. She raised her magic, and returned home.

After cleaning herself up, placing her clothes back in the closet and wrapped in her best dressing gown, she took out her two items. The apple was placed immediately placed with her other trinkets on her shelf, but the scroll she placed on her desk. Weighing down the corners of it with little bags of beads, she pawed over the map. For that was what it was, a map detailing where the All-Father had placed the Norn stones on Midgard.

She grinned, devilishly. India. She needed to go to India.


End file.
